sightings
Load
Entirely too raw for any glitzy fashion-conscious New Yorker to releasethem, this power-trio have found a home with the Providence-based Load(Lighning Bolt, Arab on Radar, Six Finger Satellite) for their debutfull (?) length release (at 11 songs, it clocks in at an almost exact26 minutes!) This aneurysm-inducing onslaught of atonality is rich inabrasion, heavy with distortion and loaded with more adorable hatedthan a pimply, overweight, horny teenaged nerd. But it's hardlymathematic, metallic, (or "ironic") however, as each song is a directslice into the guts of anybody in its aural path. The feverent energyis somewhat refreshing as it takes a much different path to get fromthe slaughterhouse to your table, stopping in the underworlds of withavant-garde social terrorists rather than concrete jungles of post-punkbrats from good homes with bedhead or leather jackets with DC bandlogos, all the while, remaining bleedingly truthful. (Eat your heartout, Thurston O'Rourke.) This disc is anything but clean, yetremarkably consistent, almost as if you can turn it up loud enough andfeel like you're actually there in front of the miked amplifier with anunavoidable strong stench of body odor festering in your face. Yeah,it's fucking harsh, but then again, when was rock and roll ever aboutpleasing your parents? In a year filled with a slim amount offavorites, I'm happy to now have this in my collection.
Entirely too raw for any glitzy fashion-conscious New Yorker to releasethem, this power-trio have found a home with the Providence-based Load(Lighning Bolt, Arab on Radar, Six Finger Satellite) for their debutfull (?) length release (at 11 songs, it clocks in at an almost exact26 minutes!) This aneurysm-inducing onslaught of atonality is rich inabrasion, heavy with distortion and loaded with more adorable hatedthan a pimply, overweight, horny teenaged nerd. But it's hardlymathematic, metallic, (or "ironic") however, as each song is a directslice into the guts of anybody in its aural path. The feverent energyis somewhat refreshing as it takes a much different path to get fromthe slaughterhouse to your table, stopping in the underworlds of withavant-garde social terrorists rather than concrete jungles of post-punkbrats from good homes with bedhead or leather jackets with DC bandlogos, all the while, remaining bleedingly truthful. (Eat your heartout, Thurston O'Rourke.) This disc is anything but clean, yetremarkably consistent, almost as if you can turn it up loud enough andfeel like you're actually there in front of the miked amplifier with anunavoidable strong stench of body odor festering in your face. Yeah,it's fucking harsh, but then again, when was rock and roll ever aboutpleasing your parents? In a year filled with a slim amount offavorites, I'm happy to now have this in my collection.
samples:
